


Baking by Phone

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Prompt Fills 2018 [47]
Category: Justice League (2017)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 10:30:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15993365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Written for the chocolate comment_fic prompt: "DC Extended Universe, Barry Allen/Arthur Curry, Arthur tries to bake a chocolate cake for Barry's birthday."He gets a little help over the phone from one Henry Allen, who used to bake the cakes for Barry's birthdays. Awkward conversations ensue.





	Baking by Phone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SherlockianSyndromes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockianSyndromes/gifts).



Two strange things happened on the same day: someone deposited a sizeable sum of money into Henry Allen’s prison account, and he received a note, written in heavy scrawl on an index card with a coffee stain on one edge of it.

The note had listed a phone number, a date, and a time, and a simple instruction:  _ call me. _

Henry was confused and a little nervous. Apart from Barry who came to visit him every week, no one spoke to him. He hadn’t seen his wife’s parents since his last parole hearing, where her mother had sobbed and her father had glared at him the entire time.

But there was more than enough money for the phone call, so Henry submitted the paperwork and requested the date and time for the phone call.

He sat in the call booth, dialed the number on the card, listened to it ring.

There was a pause, a delay, as the person on the other end heard the pre-recorded warning that the phone call was coming from the State Penitentiary, that all phone calls were recorded and monitored.

And then a man said, “Hey.”

“Hello?” Henry said cautiously. He wasn’t sure if the voice was familiar or not, and people sounded different over the phone anyway.

“Barry’s birthday is in three weeks,” the man said.

“How do you know that?” Henry asked, alarmed.

“...Because I’m his boyfriend.”

“Oh. Oh!” Relief flooded Henry’s limbs. “Arthur. Sorry. I didn’t recognize your voice.” In his defense, he’d only met the man once. He’d been surprised that Barry had brought anyone to meet him at all, because Barry never had, not once, even though he’d been very starry-eyed about a girl named Iris for a long while. That Barry had brought a veritable mountain of a man, one with long hair and a plethora of tattoos, had been even more surprising. For the visit, Arthur had been laconic, looming behind Barry more like a bodyguard than a boyfriend, though by all reports they’d met through some kind of  _ brunch buddy _ thing where strangers were grouped together for brunch at a fine restaurant.

Barry had been nervous, but when he sneaked little smiles up at Arthur, he’d looked so damn happy that Henry couldn’t help but be happy for him. 

“Barry says you used to make him chocolate cake for his birthday.”

“Yes, but - it’s been over a decade.”

“Do you remember the recipe?”

Henry thought. “I think so.”

“Can you tell it to me?”

“Are you going to bake the cake right this second?”

“I’m going to hang up and go buy the ingredients. When you call me next week - at the same time - then you can walk me through it.”

Barry was socially awkward - how could he not be, having been isolated from friends and family as the son of a murderer, brilliant and inquisitive on top of that? - and apparently his surfer bum boyfriend was even more awkward. 

“Okay,” Henry said. If he put in the paperwork later today he could get the phone call in time. 

Arthur said, “My mom abandoned me when I was a baby and my dad died when I was sixteen. I’m not very good at birthdays.”

Henry’s heart ached for this wounded boy who loved Henry’s wounded boy. 

“If you can pull off this cake, it’ll be a good birthday,” Henry said. And he started to rattle off the recipe. 

It had been years since he’d made that cake. He had to close his eyes and make the motions with his hands, reaching for measuring cups, pouring and mixing and stirring, but sure enough, he remembered. 

“Thanks,” Arthur said. “Same time next week.”

And the phone call was over. 

Henry put in paperwork for the next call and shuffled back to his cell. Barry’s birthday was in three weeks and Henry was drawing him a birthday card. 

*

The next week, Henry went to call Arthur Curry, who had managed to get himself added to Henry’s approved contact list, and he talked Arthur through the cake-baking process.

Once the test cake was in the oven, an awkward silence fell between them. Even though Arthur was laconic at best, he was intelligent, asked thoughtful questions during the process, didn’t hesitate to say if he didn’t understand, and clarified if he was unsure, so the conversation had moved along up to that point.

“Do you want me to wait with you while it bakes?” Henry asked finally.

“You got anything else to do?” Arthur asked.

“Not really, no.” Henry cleared his throat. “So...tell me about yourself?”

“I like to swim and fish.”

“That’s nice. Uh, I tried to take Barry fishing once, but it didn’t go well.”

There was no response.

Finally, Henry said, “I’m bad at this. Barry never brought boyfriends or girlfriends to see me before.”

“I trust Barry with my life,” Arthur said.

That was both elating and terrifying. That Barry had managed to find someone like that was so wonderful. Henry still didn’t know what to say.

Arthur admitted, “People never took me to meet their parents. I never took anyone home either.” There was another heavy silence, and then Arthur coughed. “Uh...so you’re a doctor.”

“I was.”

“You save a lot of people?”

“Not the person who matters.”

“Barry knows you didn’t do it.”

“Do you think I did it?”

“I trust Barry. He’s smart.”

“That he is.” Henry searched for another line of conversation. “You ever baked a cake before?”

“No.”

“You chose kind of a complicated one to start with.”

“It’s for Barry.”

Henry ached, fiercely, for all of Barry’s birthday’s he’d missed, for all the chocolate cakes he didn’t bake, for all the gifts he didn’t give. “Do you like chocolate?”

“Not as much as Barry does.”

There was another silence, this one almost companionable. Arthur said, “Timer’s done.”

“Stick a kebab skewer in the middle of the cake. If it comes out clean, cake’s done.”

There as a pause, and then Arthur said, “It’s done.”

“All right. Take it out, let it cool. We can make the frosting in the meantime.”

“Okay.” There was another pause, some banging around in the background, and then Arthur said, “So, frosting.”

Henry talked him through it, and it was kind of calming and reassuring, listening to Arthur moving around the kitchen, banging pots and pans and spoons and whisks. Once the frosting was done, Henry explained the best method for applying the frosting to the cake.

“All done. What next?”

“Try a piece,” Henry said.

Arthur chewed noisily into the phone.

“Well?” Henry asked.

“It’s good,” Arthur said. 

“Excellent.” Henry smiled. “If you can do that again in a couple of weeks, everything should be fine.”

“Thanks, Henry.”

“You’re welcome, Arthur.”

And the call ended.

Henry shuffled back to his cell, put the finishing touches on the birthday card. The next day, he put it in the mail, and he continued in his regular routine. On Barry’s birthday, he didn’t expect a call or letter or visit, but he thought of his son, wished him well, and he thought of Arthur, hoped the cake went well.

He was very surprised, a couple of days later, when he was told he had a visitor, as it wasn’t Barry’s regular visit day.

It was Arthur who was sitting on the other side of the glass.

“Hello,” Henry said.

Arthur’s smile was just a brief gleam of teeth. “Hey.”

“How’d the cake turn out?”

“Pretty bad, without you. Barry liked it anyway.”

Henry said, “Thank you. For doing so much for him.”

Arthur shrugged. “He saves my life on a regular basis, so.”

Henry wondered if Arthur meant that in an emotional sense or in a physical peril sense, but Barry was going to school to become a forensic chemist, so of course it wasn’t in a physical peril sense. Besides, Arthur looked like he could handle himself in a fight.

Arthur said, “Thanks for helping me with the cake.”

“You’re welcome,” Henry said, unsure of what else to say.

They sat and studied each other for a long moment. 

Then Arthur said, “What should I get Barry for Christmas?”


End file.
